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ELBA 

AN  D 

ELSEWHERE 

BY 

DON    C.   SEITZ 

author  of 
"discovkriks  in  evkry-day  kuropk" 

ILLUSTRATED     BY 
MAURICE    KETTEN 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
HARPER     &     BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS        «       MCMX 

Copyright,  1910,  by  Harper  &  Bkothbks 

AU  rights  reserved 


Published  September,  1910. 
Printed  in  the  United  Stales  of  Amtrica 


TO 

J.    P. 
GIVER  OF  THE  FEAST 


ELBA    AND    ELSEWHERE 


ELBA    AND    ELSEWHERE 


'T  is  but  five  miles  from  the 
Tuscan  shore  to  Elba  as  the 
crow  flies,  and  a  score  from 
Piombino  to  Porto  Ferraio,  the 
.seaport  of  the  Isle  of  Soot, 
which  is  the  meaning  of  the  name. 
Near  as  it  lies  to  Italy,  it  is  far  from 
the  lines  of  travel,  which,  like  great 
rivers,  run  by  great  cities,  and  Elba 
is  lost  in  the  blue  haze  of  the  Tyrrhe- 
nian Sea — a  memory,  a  preface  to  the 
Hundred  Days,  not  yet  a  hundred 
years  past,  and  marked  with  the  pe- 
riod of  another  island  —  the  African 
rock   of    St.   Helena.      In   easy   view 


is  Corsica,  the  island  number  one  in 
the  amazing  career  that  leaped  from 
Island  to  Continent,  from  Continent  to 
Island  and  back  again,  and  thence  to 
the  Last  Island  and  the  Tomb! 

This  nearly  submerged  peak,  whose 
hills  are  iron  and  its  valleys  farms,  is 
ancient  in  its  years.  The  Romans 
found  in  its  red  ore  the  metal  for  their 
spear-heads.  For  two  thousand  years 
its  forges  sent  out  the  material  for  the 
tools  of  war,  and  now  its  furnaces 
smoke  unceasingly  in  a  vast  industry 
of  iron  and  steel  where  the  converters 
are  turning  out  steel  billets  and  iron  to 
the  extent  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  tons  a  year  under  the  guid- 
ance of  a  hand  trained  in  America, 
Fritz  Glein,  of  Johnstown,  Pennsyl- 
vania, whose  wife,  once  a  Pennsylvania 
schoolma'am,  is  the  sole  American  on 
the  island. 

But  the  furnaces  are  alone  in  their 


modernity.  They  border  on  a  moat 
built  by  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  and  the 
Medicean  castles  frown  down  upon  an 
unchanged  town.  Eight  thousand  souls 
dwell  in  Porto  Ferraio,  in  houses  that 
are  centuries  old,  walking  streets  and 
terraces  paved  by  the  Florentines, 
while  the  landing-portal  bears  the  Me- 
dicean mark  of  1624,  and  the  customs 
guards  inhabit  La  Torre  detta  di  Pas- 
sanante,  a  bastion  at  the  sea-gate  of 
rare  architectural  beauty,  in  itself  an 
adequate  memorial  of  the  wonderful 
Genoese,  the  last  masters  of  the  island 
before  Napoleon  came. 

Behind  the  castle,  at  the  crest  of  the 
crag  on  the  ocean  side,  is  the  Palazzo 
Mulini  (Palace  of  the  Mills),  where  the 
exiled  Bonaparte  carried  on  the  busi- 
ness of  his  tiny  kingdom,  struggling 
to  fit  his  vast  mind  to  the  diminutive 
country.  It  is  the  usual  Italian  build- 
ing of  two  high  stories  with  the  slop- 
3 


ing  roof,  built  on  a  triangle  around  a 
garden  where  the  laurel  and  myrtle 
grow,  and  from  which  still  runs  plainly 
the  path  down  which  the  Emperor 
went  from  the  cliff  to  the  minute  bit 
of  beach  to  bathe  in  the  gently  lapping 
waves.  Now  the  structure  is  govern- 
ment property,  half  filled  with  tenants 
of  the  common  sort,  while  in  a  wing 
the  tailor-made  Italian  officer  in  charge 
of  the  small  garrison  keeps  his  horse. 
He  is  a  singularly  "  smart "- looking 
officer,  with  mustachios  that  spread 
like  eagle's  wings,  eye-glasses  that  stare 
piercingly,  and  trousers  so  tight  as  to 
excite  two  phases  of  wonder:  one,  how 
he  gets  them  on,  and  the  other  how 
he  ever  gets  them  off  again. 

Sunday  morning  is  market-time  at 
Porto  Ferraio,  and  the  town  is  en  jHe. 
The  country  people  come  in  with  their 
wares,  and  the  townspeople  gather  in 
the  market-place  to  gossip  and  to  buy. 
4 


The  churches  are  open  for  those  who 
wish  to  hear  mass.  The  women  ride  in 
on  large  donkeys  —  much  larger  than 
those  of  Italy  —  sitting  astride,  with 
skirts  firmly  tucked  in,  before  the  pan- 
niers which  balance  on  either  side. 
Often  a  daughter  or  a  friend  rides  be- 
hind. The  men  walk  or  ride  in  stout, 
two-wheeled  carts,  but  the  donkey  is 
the  rule  with  the  ladies.  They  are 
good-looking,  these  people  of  Elba. 
The  women  are  tall  and  straight,  with 
fine  features,  aquiline  noses,  full  lips, 
and  noble  hair.  Their  eyes  do  not  flash 
as  in  Italy,  but  look  steadily  and  clear- 
ly at  all  comers  without  shrinking  or 
concern.  The  elder  women  wear  gay 
kerchiefs  for  a  head  -  dress,  but  the 
young  need  no  adornment  other  than 
their  abundant  locks.  The  men,  too, 
are  tall,  and  if  not  as  handsome  in  looks 
and  bearing  as  the  splendid  women, 
have  an  air  of  activity  and  indepen-  jj 
S 


dence,  and  somehow  a  suggestion  of 
Spain  about  them.  Here  and  there 
around  the  market-place  stand  tall  fel- 
lows wrapped  in  bravo  cloaks  such  as 
old  Madrid  pictures  show,  folded  over 
the  shoulder,  with  an  end  hiding  the 
arm — and  a  knife,  maybe! 

There  was  plenty  of  meat  in  the 
market-place,  and  plenty  to  wear  in 
the  shops.  Red  overcoats  of  blanket 
stuff,  and  lined  with  heavy  fur,  seemed 
popular  garments,  though  the  Decem- 
ber days  were  mild.  Strangers  are  not 
plenty,  but  there  was  small  staring. 
The  innkeeper  hurried  to  oblige  with 
a  pass  to  San  Martino,  a  carriage  with 
its  single  horse,  and  to  furnish  his 
last  bottle  of  native  wine.  The  other 
guests  drank  deep -red  chianti  from 
bulbous  flasks.  Some  champagne  is 
made  on  Elba,  but  it  was  not  obtainable. 
The  native  wine  was  straw-colored,  with 
a  tang  of  sherry,  and  heady  in  results. 
6 


It  is  but  a  scant  half-hour's  drive 
from  the  square  before  the  Albergo  de 
I'Ape  Elbana  to  the  Villa  Napoleon  at 
San  Martino.  Visitors  are  rare.  The 
single  carriage  at  the  inn  is  pressed 
into  service  amid  proper  excitement, 
and  whirls  away  through  the  market- 
place, along  the  quay,  past  the  iron- 
works, over  the  water-filled  moat,  and 
then  into  the  real  country,  skirting 
the  harbor  for  a  mile  or  so  until  it 
makes  its  way  up  a  fine  valley,  at  the 
head  of  which  stands  the  house,  under 
the  shadow  of  Monte  San  Martino. 
Little  farms  line  the  way,  with  here 
and  there  a  pretty  villa,  amid  its 
clump  of  trees,  until  the  vast  new 
country-house  of  Signor  Del  Buono 
bars  the  road.  Here  the  innkeeper's 
pass  is  honored,  and  a  pretty  Elban 
woman  with  a  bunch  of  keys  leads 
through  the  gate  and  up  the  gravelled 
road  to  the  palace. 


The  simple  villa  where  the  Emperor 
lived  is  unchanged  in  itself,  but  its  sur- 
roundings are  altered  and  garish.  In 
1851  Prince  Demidoff,  who  married 
Princess  Mathilde,  daughter  of  Jerome 
and  aunt  of  our  Baltimore  Bonapartes, 
bought  the  property  and  proceeded  to 
turn  it  into  a  memorial.  He  built  into 
the  terrace  a  high,  one-storied  edifice, 
the  roof  of  which  forms  an  esplanade 
to  the  villa  proper,  of  red  granite,  or- 
namented with  bronze  "N's"  within 
the  imperial  wreath,  and  marked  with 
the  triple  bees.  Here  he  assembled 
many  relics  of  Napoleon,  which  were 
dispersed,  March  15,  1880,  by  his 
nephew  and  heir,  Paul  Demidoff. 
Mathilde  had  long  before  divorced 
Demidoff,  but  lived  to  see  the  new 
century  as  the  last  of  the  second  Bona- 
parte generation. 

A  few  sea-shells  from  the  surround- 
ing waters  and  some  geological  speci- 
8 


mens  remain  in  the  great  hall  under 
the  hillside,  and  many  engravings 
showing  events  in  Napoleon's  day  are 
on  the  walls.  In  the  villa  a  few  bat- 
tered chairs  and  the  bedstead  used  by 
Madame  Mere  remain.  This  bedstead 
is  high -posted,  with  gilded  eagles  roost- 
ing on  the  top  of  each  post.  In  what 
was  Napoleon's  sleeping-room  is  a  bed- 
stead w  ith  broken  slats  .curiously  curved , 
suggesting  a  square  gondola,  if  there 
could  be  such  a  thing.  The  guide  said 
Napoleon  had  slept  in  it.  Perhaps  he  had. 
The  Emperor's  bath-tub  is  one  au- 
thentic furnishing.  It  is  a  deep,  oval 
bowl  of  stone,  set  closely  against  the 
wall.  Above  it  a  frescoed  lady  reclines 
after  her  bath,  clothed  in  the  altogether, 
and  gazing  with  deep  satisfaction  into  a 
hand-mirror.  There  was  no  splendor 
at  San  Martino,  and  little  comfort  in 
the  house  itself  beyond  the  bath-tub. 
9 


But  the  Salle  des  Pyramides,  with 
its  fountain  in  the  floor,  is  still  there, 
frescoed  in  drab,  with  such  strange 
figures  as  appear  on  the  Central  Park 
Obelisk;  and  the  ceiling  of  another 
room  shows  two  doves  carrying  a  rib- 
bon in  their  bills  within  a  circle  of 
flowers.  This  is  said  to  typify  the 
love  of  Napoleon  and  Marie  Louise, 
who  never  came  to  see  it.  Here  Bona- 
parte met  with  his  little  court,  play- 
ing cards  at  night  with  Cambronne, 
Bertrand,  the  lovely  Sister  Pauline, 
Princess  Borghese,  and  grim  old 
Madame  Mere — cheating  always  when 
he  had  to  in  order  to  win,  and  going 
round  the  next  day  to  pay  back  the 
money  to  all  except  his  mother — 
who,  he  observed  in  justification,  was 
richer  than  he  was! 

Better  reminders  than  these  scanty 
relics  of  the  great  are  the  good  roads, 
the  drained  morasses,   the  successful 

lO 


mines,  the  improved  agriculture.  Elba 
had  but  ten  months  of  its  king. 

The  town  and  the  harbor  show  in 
fine  vistas  from  the  villa  terrace,  while 
behind  and  on  either  side  are  the  hills, 
some  topped  with  ruins,  but  all  in 
verdure  clad.  It  is  a  tranquil  resting- 
place,  one  that  should  tame  the  wildest 
mind  and  calm  even  a  warrior's  soul, 
a  place  to  be  content  from  struggling, 
away  from  battle,  murder,  and  sudden 
death ! 

In  the  church  at  Porto  Ferraio  is  an 
ebon  coffin  about  which  four  candles 
are  always  burning.  The  upper  part 
is  open,  and  in  it  lies  the  face  of  Na- 
poleon in  bronze,  made  from  Doctor 
Antommarchi's  death-mask  taken  at 
St.  Helena.  On  the  fifth  of  May,  the 
date  of  his  death,  a  funeral  service  is 
said  over  this  casket  and  its  mask. 
The  city  hall  preserves  Napoleon's  flag, 
a  banner  of  white  with  a  wide  band  of 
zi 


orange  set  at  an  angle  across  its  sur- 
face from  comer  to  comer,  on  which 
are  embroidered  the  three  golden  bees, 
the  sign  manual  of  his  kingdom !  What 
is  left  of  his  library  is  also  here,  books 
left  behind  at  the  hasty  flight  of  Sun- 
day, February  26,  181 5.  The  Arabian 
Nights  and  Don  Quixote  are  conspicu- 
ous volumes.  The  drop-curtain  of  the 
local  theatre  still  pictures  Napoleon  as 
Apollo  watching  his  sheep !  He  saw  it 
first  raised. 

The  magnate  of  Elba  is  Signor  Del 
Buono,  and  he  is  literally  all  to  the 
good.  He  controls  the  iron-works,  and 
at  the  harbor  edge  at  Porto  Ferraio 
dwells  in  a  Venetian  palace  that  would 
rouse  envy  anywhere.  On  its  outer 
wall  is  engraved  this  legend:  "Ubi 
Labor:  Ibi  Uber" — "Where  labor  is, 
there  is  fertility."  There  is  stalwart 
labor  in  Elba — and  much  fertility. 

The  harbor  at  Porto  Ferraio  is  a  safe 

12 


.^^  Qo-vorp 


and  beautiful  haven  hidden  from  the 
storms.  High  mountains  guard  it,  but 
within  a  navy  might  ride  at  ease — and 
keep  all  comers  out — while  the  shore 
falls  away  between  the  hills  in  inviting 
visions.  Nor  is  the  haven  dull.  Daily 
steamers  from  Leghorn,  and  almost 
hourly  ones  from  Piombino  awake  the 
echoes  with  whistles  and  splashing  as 
they  touch  and  go.  Bluff -bowed  Medi- 
terranean brigs  and  sharp-nosed  lateen 
fisher  and  market  boats  crowd  against 
the  quays.  Tugs  and  barges  intrude 
with  ore  from  the  distant  mines.  It 
is  a  busy  comer  of  a  little  world  where 
all  goes  well. 

The  donkeys  of  Elba  have  a  bray  that 
sounds  like  a  soprano  steam-whistle. 

Six  new  houses  have  been  built  on 
the  island  of  Elba  at  the  edge  of  Porto 
Ferraio.  They  follow  accepted  styles, 
and  do  not  shock  the  scenery. 

The  island  of  Capraia,  where  Gari- 
13 


baldi  chose  to  retire  like  a  modem 
Cincinnatus  after  he  had  presented 
United  Italy  to  the  House  of  Savoy, 
is  the  first  land  visible  in  the  Tuscan 
Archipelago  when  approached  from 
the  north.  It  is  huge,  high,  and  for  the 
most  part  sterile,  with  a  little  fishing 
and  farming  village  of  two  hundred 
souls  on  the  flattest  part,  and  in  gentle 
mockery  on  such  a  shrine  of  liberty, 
a  camp  of  five  hundred  Italian  convicts, 
to  keep  the  island  innocence  company. 
The  peaks  of  Monte  Cristo  rise 
sharply  from  the  sea  below  Elba  and 
across  from  Corsica.  They  are  slen- 
der, tall,  and  fragile  in  appearance, 
and  look  tiny  beside  the  bulky  Cor- 
sican  hills  which  culminate  in  Monte 
Rotondo,  more  than  eight  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The 
little  island,  with  its  triple  spires  of 
rock,  is  now  a  hunting-preserve,  but 
has  lived  in  millions  of  minds  as  the 
14 


synonyme  for  sudden  wealth  ever  since 
the  imagination  of  Dumas  sent  Ed- 
mond  Dantes  into  its  dark  chambers  to 
discover  the  hidden  hoard  out  of  which 
he  paid  his  debt  of  vengeance.  Scen- 
ically  it  fits  the  part  of  home  for  bur- 
ied treasures;  remote,  difficult  of  ap- 
proach, and  wildly  picturesque  withal. 


Order  and  safety  rule  in  Monaco. 
One  may  gamble,  drink,  and  consort 
with  women  at  Monte  Carlo,  but  all 
public  conduct  must  be  decorous — ac- 
cording to  the  French  standard,  which 
is  outwardly  one  of  eminent  propriety. 
The  Prince  is  a  zealous  savant,  and  his 
contributions  to  knowledge  of  life  in 
deep  seas  are  numerous  and  valuable. 
His  yacht  is  constantly  in  commission 
making  soundings  in  the  depths — ^none 
of  which  have  been  discovered  quite  as 
deep  as  the  source  of  his  income — and 


the  results  are  lodged  in  an  admirable 
museum  at  Monte  Carlo.  He  has  a 
daughter  married  to  about  all  that  is 
left  of  the  Bonaparte  family.  He  has 
also  contributed  to  the  discoveries  con- 
cerning the  cave-dwellers  as  did  a 
predecessor,  the  hereditary  Prince  Flor- 
estan — a  name  quite  fit  for  the  job,  and 
rather  suggesting  a  conjurer! 

One  does  not  enter  the  Casino  by 
merely  ascending  the  steps  and  walk- 
ing through  the  door.  Not  at  all.  He 
must  secure  a  ticket  of  admission  and 
run  the  gauntlet  of  numerous  sharp 
eyes.  He  must  give  his  age,  tell  where 
he  is  from,  give  his  business.  Then  a 
ticket  is  given,  a  brown  card  with  the 
comers  clipped  off,  on  the  back  of  which 
he  must  endorse  his  name.  Season 
tickets  are  obtainable  in  the  same  man- 
ner, and  pains  is  taken  to  see  that  these 
do  not  get  transferred  to  undesirables 
— to  pigeons  not  worth  plucking! 
i6 


DE  HON^ot/ 


Both  the  roulette  and  trente-et- 
quarante  tables  are  run  on  the  square. 
The  former  limits  the  lowest  bets  to  a 
five-franc  piece — about  ninety  cents — 
but  the  latter  will  bother  with  nothing 
but  gold.  The  whole  process  of  losing 
money  is  much  simpler  than  that  pre- 
vailing on  the  New  York  Stock  Ex- 
change or  in  the  Chicago  grain  pit. 
Nobody's  money  is  involved  except 
that  of  the  players,  unless,  and  rarely, 
some  defaulter  should  slip  in  past  the 
vigilants.  There  is  no  risking  of  the 
cash  of  innocent  bank  depositors,  bor- 
rowed by  margin  on  "call."  There 
is  no  overcertifying,  no  overdrawing 
of  accounts,  no  slaughtering  of  stop- 
orders.  Bets  are  paid  in  advance, 
winnings  are  returned  in  cash,  raked 
in  and  pushed  out  by  the  croupier  with 
his  wooden  hoe.  There  are  no  calls  for 
margin.  "Make  your  choice"  and 
"nothing  more  goes,"  are  the  only 
17 


terms  employed.  There  are  no  panics, 
no  short  selling,  no  "bull"  nor  "bear" 
movements,  and  no  marked  cards,  en- 
graved by  the  American  Bank  Note 
Company.  There  is  nothing  but  hon- 
est gambling,  matching  chance  against 
chance  with  a  perpetual  percentage  in 
favor  of  the  "Bank." 

There  is  no  excitement  in  the  gam- 
bling-hall. Those  who  have  seats  sit 
dully  by  betting  almost  automatically. 
Those  who  stand  toss  their  wagers  over 
the  heads  of  the  sitters,  and  all  win  or 
lose  without  animation.  The  air  is 
heavily 'laden  with  perfume,  so  heavily 
that  one  suspects  it  does  not  all  ema- 
nate from  the  women,  but  that  it  is 
purposely  charged  to  numb  the  senses. 
They  certainly  are  not  acute  after  a 
stay  in  the  close  atmosphere.  The 
croupiers  shift  frequently  for  a  fresh 
breath  out-of-doors,  but  the  players 
and  the  attendant  crowd  take  on  a 


greater  appearance  of  languor,  listless- 
ness,  and  despair.  Winner  or  loser, 
the  look  is  the  same,  one  of  heavy  eyes, 
and  deep  facial  lines.  If  any  butter- 
flies flutter  in  they  soon  become  black- 
birds like  the  rest.  Who  are  they  all  ? 
Well,  everybody  from  everywhere,  and 
some  women  who  cruise  harpy-like 
about  the  halls  looking  for  the  lucky. 

If  one  must  go  to  the  devil,  let  it  be 
done  decorously  with  all  expenses  paid 
in  advance.  This  is  the  rule.  Behind 
the  mirrored  panels  that  line  the  hall 
are  numberless  concealed  exits.  Should 
a  woman  scream  or  faint  as  they  some- 
times do,  or  a  man  break  forth  into  im- 
precations, from  out  of  the  crowd 
suddenly  appear  a  half -score  of  the 
inmunerable  guardians  of  the  place,  one 
of  the  panels  slides  back  and  the  dis- 
turber vanishes  from  the  view  never 
to  come  back  again.  A  ticket  to  Paris, 
or  anywhere  else  well  out  of  the  gam- 
19 


bling  world,  all  hotel  bills  paid,  and  a 
warning  never  to  return  again  com- 
plete the  story. 

The  strangest  thing  about  the  den 
is  the  belief  in  system.  Men  and 
women,  many  of  the  latter  of  whom 
look  like  school-teachers  or  middle- 
aged  keepers  of  boarding-houses,  thumb 
well-worn  note-books  full  of  figures 
and  cross-calculations  in  their  endeav- 
ors to  trace  and  follow  the  vagaries  of 
the  ball  and  its  fellow-robber,  the  wheel. 

Many  bet  by  the  number  of  their 
years,  but  this  is  limited  to  the  young — 
36  being  the  highest  figure  on  the 
roulette  diagram.  The  ball  is  rolled 
in  one  direction,  the  wheel  and  its  cups 
travel  oppositely.  Every  run  of  luck 
is  jotted  down  as  a  basis  for  something 
beyond  luck — and  fails.  There  is  only 
one  system  that  never  falls  down — 
that  of  the  administration.  A  croupier 
sometimes  runs  out  of  change.  This 
20 


is  called  breaking  the  bank.  But  there 
is  more  up-stairs  in  the  cashier's  office, 
and  a  great  deal  more  coming  in  at 
other  tables.  Last  year  (1908)  the 
concern  paid  a  22  per  cent,  dividend, 
besides  keeping  up  its  theatre,  its  fault- 
less orchestra,  its  lovely  gardens,  and 
maintaining  Albert,  Prince  of  Monaco, 
in  the  style  to  which  he  has  long  been 
accustomed.  Now  a  new  wing  has  been 
constructed  to  hold  many  more  tables, 
and  prosperity  is  insured  indefinitely 
in  the  tiny  principality — not  so  much 
by  the  game  as  by  the  fact  that  none 
of  His  Highness'  subjects  are  permit- 
ted to  enter  the  realm  of  chance. 

Outside  the  rather  garish  rococo 
Casino  the  world  grows  clean  and  fair. 
The  terraces  leading  down  to  the  sea, 
beneath  which  the  railroad  lies  con- 
cealed, are  the  loveliest  in  the  world. 
Cap  Martin  with  its  white  villas,  like 
Cymos,  where  the  Empress  Eugenie 
21 


makes  her  winter  home,  lies  to  the  left, 
and  to  the  right  is  the  little  harbor  of 
Monaco  with  its  lights  and  breakwater. 
Beyond  are  Beaulieu  and  Villefranche 
and  the  mosaic  bits  of  paradise  that 
fill  the  narrow  limits  between  the 
mountains  and  the  shore  until  Nice 
ends  the  radius  of  the  Riviera.  More 
beautiful  than  all  is  the  sea  upon 
which  the  Casino  coldly  turns  its  back. 
It  is  the  Mediterranean  at  its  best — 
gentle,  shimmering  and  blue — curling 
softly  against  the  strand  as  if  con- 
scious that  noise  and  discord  are  out 
of  place  in  the  neighborhood. 

While  the  town  itself  is  modem  to 
the  highest  requirement,  the  environs 
of  Monte  Carlo  are  ancient  and  un- 
changed. On  the  height  above,  some 
fifteen  hundred  feet  aloft  from  the  sea, 
the  village  of  La  Turbie  abides  as  it 
has  for  centuries,  a  French-Italian 
peasant  town,  looking  down  upon  the 


ruined  fortresses  it  has  survived  and 
the  pleasure  garden  far  below — while 
the  women  wash  clothes  and  abuse  the 
neighbors  at  the  ancient  stone  fountain 
in  the  village  square,  and  the  men  loaf 
deliciously  in  ear-shot  of  the  chatter 
and  splashing.  It  is  as  mediaeval  as 
it  ever  was,  and  a  thousand  miles  in 
spirit  away  from  the  modem  world, 
even  if  the  cog-wheeled  engine  of  the 
funiculaire  which  clanks  and  grumbles 
up  the  mountain-side  brings  Monte 
Carlo  to  it  in  half  an  hour. 

The  new  f  agade  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris, 
facing  the  Casino  at  Monte  Carlo,  is  a 
charming  example  of  French  architect- 
ure up  to  date,  and  perhaps  a  little 
ahead  of  it.  This  last  remark  applies 
particularly  to  the  figures  of  the  gay 
ladies  adorning  the  line  of  the  second 
story,  clad  only  in  an  entrancing  smile 
cut  very  low. 

Postal   cards,    drawn   by   frivolous 


French  artists  casting  odium  upon 
Prince  Albert,  are  sold  in  Nice  and 
Mentone,  but  not  in  Monte  Carlo. 
They  reflect  strongly  on  the  gambling 
end  of  his  principality,  and  score  him 
for  living  on  tainted  money,  like  the 
American  horror  at  Rockefeller.  This 
may  be  real  and  it  may  be  envy,  as 
both  towns  provide  facilities  for  games 
of  chance  from  which  the  municipali- 
ties benefit;  but  they  are  crude  and 
poorly  run  by  contrast.  French  virtue, 
outside  of  Paris,  carefully  guards  itself, 
and  takes  toll  from  the  sins  of  visitors. 
The  plucked  goose  and  the  sheared 
lamb  rampant  ought  to  be  on  the 
coat  of  arms  of  Monaco  —  but  are 
not.  The  principality  coins  an  un- 
usual gold  piece — value  one  hundred 
francs — so  that  money  can  be  lost 
faster.  The  place  drains  the  gold 
from  the  surrounding  communities, 
which  do  business  on  silver  and  paper. 
24 


The  biggest  sign  in  Monaco  bears 
the  majestic  name  of  Gompers.  It 
does  not  refer  to  our  own  Samuel,  but 
to  the  keeper  of  an  excellent  jewelry- 
store. 

The  centre  of  the  floor  of  the  Cafe 
d'Austria  at  Monte  Carlo  contains  a 
section  a  dozen  feet  square  laid  in  orna- 
mented tiles.  The  tables  range  about 
it.  Here,  when  the  night  grows  young 
again  the  dancers  come  to  amuse  the 
guests,  keeping  time  to  the  wild  music 
of  a  Magyar  band.  Russian  and  Hun- 
garian dances  rule,  including  a  bit  of 
the  Tsardas,  which  cannot  be  prop- 
erly stepped  in  less  than  three  hours, 
spiced  with  the  brutal  "  Apache"  spiel 
from  Paris.  The  dancers  are  pro- 
fessional and  graceful.  Now  and  then 
a  fair  bit  of  driftwood  from  the  half- 
world  joins  in  the  show,  flirting  her 
brown  curls  in  time,  and  making  a 
picture  really  gay  —  if  not  analyzed. 
25 


'      Paper  napkins  are  served  with  meals, 
-^and  in  delicate  tribute  the   coats   of 
arms  or  flags  of  nations  decorate  them. 
Americans  get  star-spangled  banners 
on  theirs. 

The  little  coppery  oysters  at  Monte 
Carlo  are  served  with  the  big  muscle 
undetached  from  the  lower  shell.  This 
is  done  to  prove  to  the  sceptical  that 
they  are  freshly  shucked,  and  not 
tubbed  bivalves  travelling  in  shells 
that  have  been  used  before.  They 
taste  better  than  they  look. 


When  the  moon  rises  at  Mentone  it 
comes  like  a  new  orb  to  the  Western 
eye.  It  is  not  a  moon  for  lovers,  half 
shy  and  lending  shadows  to  the  night, 
but  enormous,  full,  and  dazzling  with 
gleams  that  outline  every  plant,  house, 
and  tree.  The  Alpes  Maritimes,  some- 
times vague  by  day,  become  sharp 
26 


under  its  rays — each  peak,  angle,  and 
gorge  standing  out  as  if  mirrored  in 
crystal.  The  snowy  tops  of  the  more 
distant  heights  grow  near.  The  villas 
and  roadways  take  on  a  whiteness  de- 
nied them  by  the  sun,  and  every  ripple 
on  the  sea  is  tipped  with  silver.  The 
palms  on  Cap  Martin  stand  out  in 
feathery  distinction,  while  the  lavish 
lights  of  Monte  Carlo  glitter  like  a 
necklace  of  diamonds  along  the  bay. 
Even  the  flowers,  deceived  by  the 
brightness,  do  not  close,  but  the  ivy 
geraniums,  roses,  and  jessamine  show 
their  colors  in  the  day-like  night. 

In  the  Barma-Grande,  a  cleft  in  the 
Red  Rock  at  Mentone,  deep  and  wide 
enough  to  be  called  a  cave,  just  over 
the  border  line  of  Italy,  is  packed  the 
history  of  the  palaeolithic  world.  In 
1892  Joseph  Abbo,  the  quarryman, 
who  had  been  blasting  the  Rochers 
Rouges  into  fragments  for  building 
27 


stone,  took  to  removing  the  earth 
from  the  cleft  to  replenish  the  scanty 
soil  of  his  garden.  His  small  son,  idling 
with  a  pick,  laid  bare  a  human  skull, 
and,  in  due  time,  five  in  all  were  un- 
covered. In  the  year  1884  Louis 
Julian  had  discovered  the  remains  of  a 
skeleton  in  the  same  cavern  at  a  depth 
of  twenty-eight  feet,  but  interest 
seems  to  have  ceased  until  the  boy 
made  his  accidental  find.  So  M.  Abbo 
turned  from  quarryman  to  antiquarian, 
and  thanks  to  the  late  Sir  Thomas 
Hanbury  is  now  custodian  of  the  most 
unique  museum  in  the  world,  which  he 
himself  has  stocked  from  the  excava- 
tions in  the  Barma-Grande.  Nor  are 
these  over.  Bit  by  bit  the  soil  is  still 
being  separated,  revealing  each  day 
some  trace  of  prehistoric  man.  The 
tall  skeletons,  preserved  by  the  oxide  of 
iron,  are  there  complete,  four  of  them 
at  the  precise  levels  and  in  the  same 
28 


condition  as  when  they  were  found. 
The  almost  unshaped  flint  knives  and 
scrapers,  simple  instruments  of  bone, 
and  ornaments  like  a  necklace  made  of 
the  vertebrae  of  a  salmon,  which  the 
female  skeleton  wore,  push  the  history 
of  man  back  into  a  period  which  sci- 
entists estimate  may  have  endured 
for  200,000  years.  The  caveman  had 
heavy  bones  and  fine  teeth.  In  vari- 
ous layers  are  found  fireplaces  filled  with 
ashes  and  charcoal,  and  below  these  the 
broken  marrow- bones  of  the  elephant, 
rhinoceros,  and  deer,  from  which  the 
troglodyte  sucked  uncooked  marrow  as 
the  single  luxury  of  his  day.  There  must 
have  been  a  Benevolent  Protective 
Order  of  Elks  in  the  Palaeozoic  age,  be- 
cause the  deer  teeth,  bored  for  wear,  are 
there,  looking  exactly  like  those  pendent 
from  many  American  watch-chains. 

It  would  be  easy  to  establish  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden  as  having  been  located  at 


Mentone.  The  climate  is  all  right,  there 
are  apples  to  be  had,  Satan  is  near  by 
at  Monte  Carlo,  and  fig-trees,  which  were 
the  original  clothing  stores  for  Adam 
and  Eve,  are  abundant  and  full  of  leaves. 

"I  wanted  my  hat,"  said  the  brisk 
American  widow  at  Naples,  who  had 
just  globe-trotted  alone  around  the 
world  vid  Manila,  Ceylon,  Suez,  and  a 
few  other  outposts  of  the  men  without  a 
country.  "The  milliner  said  she  would 
send  it  to-morrow.  I  knew  she  wouldn't, 
so  I  just  grabbed  the  box  and  ran  off 
with  it.  I  was  told  this  was  a  breach 
of  decorum.  I  just  told  them  back 
that  parvenoos  and  those  Nauvoo 
Reeche  in  America  so  regarded  it,  but 
I  and  other  people  who  had  sense  didn't 
care  a  rap.  Besides,  I  wanted  my  hat. 
When  I  want  things  that  belong  to  me 
I  take  them.  That's  American,  I  guess. 
What's  more,  if  you  were  as  homesick 
30 


as  I  am  you  wouldn't  bother  with  eti- 
quette —  at  least,  not  about  bundles. 
And,  say,  do  you  know,  those  two  Lit- 
tle Sisters  of  the  Poor  who  were  on  the 
ship  begging  said  they  had  never  been 
into  the  museum  at  Naples  where  all 
those  statues  are  because  the  Priest 
wouldn't  let  them  go,  because — well, 
the  statues  are  undraped?  Isn't  that 
a  shame  ?  And  did  you  see  that  group 
with  the  woman  trying  to  tie  a  cow? 
[The  Famese  Bull.]  Such  an  expres- 
sion as  she  had — so  determined." 

While  workmen  and  idlers  still 
crouch  and  shiver  over  little  fires  of 
rubbish  and  pine-cones  in  the  alleys  of 
Naples,  steam-heat  is  invading  Italy. 
The  new  hotels,  apartments,  and  villas 
are  equipped  with  warming  apparatus. 
This  banishes  the  fiction  about  "Sunny 
Italy,"  but  makes  living  there  in  win- 
ter more  comfortable. 

The  weary  American  mother  with  a 
3  31 


sharp-nosed  daughter  is  a  prominent 
and  permanent  feature  in  the  European 
landscape.  Usually  mother  is  crushed 
and  gentle,  but  daughter  is  harsh  and 
experienced.  She  scolds  laundresses 
and  porters  with  system  and  results, 
and  drives  the  pension  and  hotel 
keepers  to  incipient  madness.  In 
France  and  Italy  particularly  Ameri- 
cans are  regarded  as  mildly  insane,  and 
are  treated  indulgently,  just  as  the 
Indians  allowed  Caucasian  lunatics  to 
go  unharmed,  on  the  ground  that  they 
had  already  been  possessed  by  the  devil. 
The  Italians  seem  careless  about 
spelling  the  names  of  their  towns. 
Genoa  is  * '  Geno va, "  "  Genva , ' '  and 
"Genes."  Venice  is  "Venezia"  or 
"Venetia."  Florence  is  "Firenze." 
Spezia  has  one  "z"  at  home  and  two 
abroad,  and  then  is  pronounced  "Spet- 
sia."  Rome  is  "Roma,"  and  Naples 
"Napoli"  and  "Napolis."  Traces  of 
33 


«»>, 


meaning  are  visible  in  all  of  these,  but 
the  transformation  of  Leghorn  to  "Liv- 
omo"  is  bewildering. 

Much  is  said  in  criticism  of  the  vast 
sums  spent  by  travelling  Americans  in 
Europe,  but,  after  all,  to  the  fair- 
minded  observer  it  is  but  a  moderate 
return  for  what  we  take  away  in  the 
form  of  the  cheap  labor  which  does  the 
rough  work  in  the  United  States,  which 
our  own  palms  have  become  too  tender 
to  endure.  The  Italian  thousands,  for 
example,  who  glean  a  dollar  or  two  a 
day  and  "find"  themselves,  are  pro- 
ducing wealth  much  faster  in  America 
for  the  Americans  than  the  latter  are 
spending  it  in  their  visits  to  Italy.  As 
usual,  the  Yankee  gets  the  best  of  it 
in  whatever  game  is  played. 


France  is  not  interesting  in  winter 
until  one  comes  to  Avignon.     When 
33 


this  journey  was  taken  the  land  from 
Calais  to  Paris  was  white  with  snow — 
a  second  invasion  from  Germany.  But 
when  morning  came  in  Provence  a 
delicate  atmosphere  as  exquisite  as 
the  American  Indian  Summer,  with 
its  haze  and  warmth,  prevailed.  The 
leaves  still  clung  scantily  to  the  vines 
and  to  the  pear-trees.  The  live-oak 
and  the  funereal  cypress  held  their 
perpetual  green.  The  grass  was  dry- 
ing into  brown,  and  the  reeds  and  canes 
were  yellow.  But  it  was  summer 
asleep,  and  not  the  death  of  winter. 
Towers  and  castles  loomed  amid  the 
haze,  softened  in  outline  but  clear  to 
the  eye.  The  soldiers  at  the  barracks 
were  doing  calisthenics  in  morning 
undress  of  cotton — none  too  clean — 
standing  on  one  leg  and  kicking  out  with 
the  other,  loosening  their  wiry  muscles. 
Aries,  old  and  sear,  with  its  Roman 
amphitheatre,  comes  into  view  like  a 
34 


stage-setting,  and  Marseilles  —  "Mas- 
silia,"  the  oldest  city  in  the  world — 
arrives.  Here  the  Cote  d'Azur  extends 
its  first  welcome,  and  opens  up  in  ver- 
dant visions  its  peerless  panorama, 
with  glittering  glimpses  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean and  great  gray  mountains  press- 
ing enviously  upon  the  glorious  sea. 

From  Antibes  to  Mentone,  and  ex- 
tending to  the  uplands  of  Grasse,  thir- 
ty-five kilometers  back  from  the  sea, 
there  is  a  half-bowl  that  harbors  the 
African  sun,  while  the  Maritime  Alps 
break  the  ice  -  wind  from  the  north, 
making  a  land  of  flowers.  The  sun  is 
master  here  —  a  tyrant  in  summer, 
but  in  spring,  fall,  and  winter  a  gen- 
erous friend  who  turns  the  rough  coun- 
try, with  its  thin  and  gravelly  soil, 
into  a  basin  of  fertility,  producing  in 
never-ending  rhyme: 

Olive  and  vine, 
Oil  and  wine! 

35 


//n\ 


At  Grasse  flower-growing  for  per- 
fumes is  a  huge  industry.  Most  Ameri- 
can toilet  soap  gets  its  scent  from  the 
petals  grown,  gathered,  and  distilled 
in  this  favored  niche  of  France,  while  a 
train-load  of  blossoms  departs  daily  from 
Nice  for  less-favored  parts  of  the  land. 

Hedges  are  growths  of  cane  along 
the  Cote  d'Azur.  They  shade  the 
weaker  plants  in  the  gardens  from  the 
ferocious  sun,  and  when  half  ripened 
are  cut  and  made  into  baskets,  in 
which  the  bottled  wine  is  carried  to 
market.     Nothing  can  be  wasted  here! 

The  farmers  around  Marseilles  were 
making  hay  on  Thanksgiving  Day. 
The  olives  were  ripening  black  upon 
the  trees.  The  fig-trees  had  curled 
their  leaves  under  the  chill,  but  much 
ripe  fruit  clung  to  the  branches.  Tow- 
ard Cannes  olives  were  still  green. 
The  yellow  narcissus  blossomed  in 
wayside  gardens.  At  Nice  roses 
36 


bloomed  and  the  ivy-geraniums  were    \ 
lavish  in  flower,  while  in  the  gardens  -^ 
at  Cap  Martin  the  purple  iris  unfolded 
its  fleur-de-lis,  jessamine  and  jasmine 
opened  their  petals  to  the  sun,   and 
yellowing  lemons  tinted  the  trees. 

It  is  always  wash-day  at  Nice.  The 
bed  of  the  river  Paglione  is  nearly  dry 
except  when  the  mountains  shed  tears, 
and  here  the  women  gather  to  swash 
the  linen  in  the  rivulets  that  trickle 
through  the  gravel  to  the  sea.  The 
clothes-lines  are  also  strung  along  the 
river  -  bed.  Sociability  prevails,  and 
the  supply  of  gossip  is  greater  than 
that  of  soap. 

The  hunters  of  the  Alps,  who  garri- 
son the  southeastern  borderland  of 
France,  are  little  men  dressed  in  dark 
blue  and  wearing  exaggerated  golf- 
caps  of  the  same  color.  They  are 
picked  for  muscularity  and  sure-footed- 
ness.  They  carry  short  carbines  and 
37 


vm^t=^ 


a  kit  of  marching  -  tools,  the  chief 
item  of  which  are  alpenstocks  with  a 
huge  crook  at  one  end,  giving  the 
troops  the  look  of  shepherds,  which 
they  are  in  a  way — shepherds  that  eat 
the  sheep!  The  men  are  nearly  all 
dark,  and  the  cunning  little  officers 
wear  their  black  beards  trimmed  in 
wedges,  such  as  are  seen  on  the  sculpt- 
ured faces  of  the  Pharoahs  on  the 
Egyptian  monuments. 

When  Bonaparte  declared  there 
must  be  no  Alps,  he  meant  what  he 
said.  The  great  roads  through  and 
over  the  mountains  into  Italy  are 
marks  of  his  herculean  hands.  The 
Comiche  road  from  Nice  to  Genoa 
abolishes  the  Alpes  -  Maritimes.  It 
crests  the  mountains  and  commands 
the  sea,  rising  to  the  altitude  of  the 
clouds  and  furnishing  a  highway  for 
invasion  to  the  south,  and  incidentally 
from  it,  but  for  the  line  of  fortresses 
38 


along  the  way,  whose  huge  walls  and 
masked  batteries  form  the  buttresses 
of  France.  Here  are  barriers  that  do 
not  crumble,  and  guards  that  do  not 
sleep.  Scenically  it  forms  a  vantage 
for  such  a  view  as  can  be  had  nowhere 
else  in  all  the  lands  of  earth.  High  as 
it  runs  the  peaks  behind  are  higher, 
while  between  it  and  the  vast  sea  be- 
neath are  visions  of  valleys  marked  in 
green  and  gold,  where  in  narrow  clefts 
full  of  sunshine  thrive  the  orange  and 
olive,  lemon  and  vine  and  palm. 
Cities  and  villages  intervene  chained 
together  by  lines  of  villas,  while  as 
the  road  winds  across  the  gulfs  the 
snowy  peaks  of  the  background  come 
to  view,  arctic  in  aspect  and  sharp  in 
outline  against  a  chilly  sky — a  sky  that 
becomes  in  an  instant  sunny  and  se- 
rene if  the  eye  turns  toward  Africa, 
whence  comes  the  warmth  that  con- 
serves this  little  comer  of  the  earth 
39 


from  frosts  and  snows,  and  ends  the 
grief  of  seasons. 

The  French  end  of  the  Comiche 
road  is  kept  in  perfect  repair  by  a 
road-gang  that  is  always  on  patrol. 
The  men  live  in  a  big  green  van,  which 
is  hauled  along  by  the  steam  -  roller 
that  also  acts  as  a  traction-engine. 
Crushed  stone  is  ready  at  hand.  It  is 
spread  by  manual  labor,  and  rolled  in 
by  the  heavy  machine.  In  this  way 
the  road  never  goes  to  wreck,  and 
the  cost  of  repairing  is  kept  small. 


The  department  store  at  Roque- 
brunne,  on  the  mountain  -  side,  a 
thousand  feet  or  so  above  Mentone, 
consists  of  a  very  long  cart-frame 
mounted  on  two  wheels,  drawn  by 
a  donkey  three  feet  high  and  but  a 
few  inches  larger  than  his  voice.  All 
sorts  of  dry  goods  are  purveyed  by 
40 


the  proprietor,  who  walks  beside  his 
shop. 

The  heights  above  Toulon  are  crown- 
ed with  great  fortifications.  From  a 
lower  ridge  beneath  the  youthful  Bona- 
parte seized  Opportunity  by  its  brazen 
neck,  and  dragged  it  backward  and 
forward  across  the  European  world 
until  his  weary  hands  let  go.  Here 
is  the  home  of  the  French  navy.  The 
splendid  harbor  is  filled  with  ships-of- 
war,  which,  if  looks  count  for  any- 
thing, are  the  most  formidable  in 
existence.  The  French  privateers  were 
the  boldest  on  the  seas  until  the 
Yankees  came,  but  the  French  navy 
has  always  made  a  poor  showing  in 
actual  conflict.  Captain  Marryat's 
whimsical  saying,  that  it  took  so  long  to 
give  an  order  in  French  that  no  time 
was  left  to  execute  it,  may  be  the  basis 
of  the  weakness.  Anyway,  the  ships 
seem  fit,  and  so  do  the  jaunty  sailormen. 
41 


Modem  harvesting  machinery  has 
invaded  Southern  Europe,  so  the  thresh- 
ing floors,  which  came  from  Babylon, 
together  with  some  other  French  spe- 
cialties, are  now  growing  over  with 
grass. 

From  the  standpoint  of  exact  self- 
ishness it  is  hard  to  see  why  there 
should  be  any  worry  over  the  station- 
ary population  of  France.  It  limits 
the  puzzles  of  the  living.  There  is  no 
problem  of  the  unemployed.  The 
thrifty  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  toil. 
There  is  little  poverty  and  small  dis- 
tress. There  is  enough  land  and 
enough  food  under  good  husbanding. 
And  as  for  to-morrow  ?  Well,  who  has 
seen  to-morrow? 

The  gutters  in  Paris  are  washed 
from  a  faucet  set  in  the  curb,  which 
provides  a  free  flow  of  water  where 
it  is  wanted,  and  does  not  splurge  it 
all  over  the  street,  distributing  the 
42 


dirt — as  happens  in  New  York  when 
the  White  Wings  "turn"  a  fire-hydrant 
loose. 

The  ordinary  vine  grapes  served  in 
France  are  cut  with  a  considerable 
section  of  vine  attached  to  the  stem 
of  each  bunch.  It  seems  to  extend 
their  keeping  qualities.  The  American 
method  is  to  clip  at  the  stem, 

French  novels  are  bound  in  yellow 
paper  covers. 

French  pine-trees  have  flat  tops, 
and  head  out  like  a  cauliflower. 

The  economy  of  system  prevails  on 
the  French  railway  dining-cars.  First 
a  waiter  goes  through  the  train  and 
distributes  seat-checks,  so  there  is  no 
scramble  to  get  in.  Then  the  plates 
are  dealt  out  from  a  pile  by  one  man, 
another  fills  them  with  soup  from  a 
big  tureen,  and  the  other  dishes  follow 
in  order — each  course  being  served  hot 
from  the  platter.  The  passenger  takes 
43 


— JX-::^^ 


what  he  gets,  and  there  is  no  waste  or 
overeating.  A  bill  is  rendered,  and  a 
collector  comes  around  with  a  tin  tray 
containing  six  sections  for  coin,  the 
one  for  gold  being  covered  and  fed 
through  a  slot.  No  gold  ever  comes 
back  in  the  change. 

The  gas-works  which  usually  domi- 
nate the  urban  landscape  in  America 
are  modesty  itself  in  France.  Even  the 
breweries  intrude  but  shyly  into  view. 
The  theory  of  the  French  sleeping- 
car  is  that  it  is  a  place  to  sleep  in, 
and  as  such  it  is  very  comfortable. 
The  berths  are  in  state-rooms,  and 
run  across  the  car.  The  high  back  of 
the  sofa  lifts  and  forms  an  admirable 
upper  berth,  while  a  wedge-shaped 
bolster  placed  under  the  mattress 
makes  an  agreeable  angle  for  the  pil- 
low to  rest  on,  so  that  the  blood  of  the 
sleeper  flows  easily  to  his  feet.  There 
*^^   is  real  elasticity  in  the  springs  instead 


/7^[i!niiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiM!iiiiiiiiiill 


of  the  hard  ridges  one  must  adjust  his 
person  to  in  Mr.  Pullman's  ingenious 
contrivance.  There  is  a  wash-room 
to  each  two  compartments,  and,  with 
true  Gallic  economy,  but  four  towels, 
each  small  and  thin.  The  drinking- 
water  is  in  a  clean  carafe,  and  not 
mingled  with  miscellaneous  ice  in  a 
metal  canister.  Men  and  women  are 
segregated.  But  the  lower  berth  can- 
not be  turned  into  a  seat  without  the 
consent  of  the  occupant  of  the  upper, 
and  if  one  passenger  does  not  care  to 
rise  the  other  can  patrol  the  narrow  cor- 
ridor until  he  gets  ready.  There  is  no 
place  to  go  but  out.  It  costs  $10.50  to 
spend  twenty-four  hours  in  one,  so  most 
travellers  sit  up  or  bribe  the  guard  to 
let  them  monopolize  a  compartment. 
^^ 
When  a  man  builds  a  house  in  Paris 
he  must  conform  it  to  the  adjacent 
style  of  architecture.  The  pleasing 
45 


New  York  habit  of  sticking  a  struct- 
ure out  eight  or  ten  feet  to  the  edge 
of  the  stoop-Hne,  giving  the  neighbors 
on  either  side  a  fine  stretch  of  dead 
wall  to  feast  their  eyes  on,  is  not 
tolerated.  Such  American  luxuries  as 
spite  fences,  pig-pens,  stables,  and 
similar  intrusions  upon  the  rights  of 
the  helpless  others  do  not  obtain. 
The  privileges  of  the  individual  in  Eu- 
rope generally  are  subordinated  to  the 
rights  of  the  community  with  soothing 
results  to  the  eye,  ear,  and  smell. 

French  elections,  prize-fights,  and 
horse-races  are  held  on  Sundays,  so 
not  even  time  is  wasted  in  the  thrifty 
land  of  France. 

The  Bon  Marche,  Paris,  which  is 
now  under  co-operative  management, 
did  a  business  of  $47,000,000  in  1909. 
The  American  visitor  is  quickly  spot- 
ted, and  an  interpreter  is  soon  at  his 
side,  without  the  asking,  and  sticks  to 
46 


him  until  his  troubles  are  over.  No 
money  is  paid  to  salesmen.  The  cus- 
tomer and  the  goods  go  to  the  cashier 
together,  and  there  are  no  mistakes. 
The  store  does  not  advertise  in  the 
lavish  American  way.  Most  of  its  pub- 
licity is  secured  through  posters  and 
catalogues.  The  secret  is  not  in  ad- 
vertising, but  in  so  serving  customers 
that  one  is  never  lost.  Not  only  are 
prices  fair,  but  the  buyer  is  carefully 
instructed  in  values  and  quality.  The 
American  lady  who  bought  some  os- 
trich plumes  for  the  first  time  was  sur- 
prised to  have  the  salesman  take  out  a 
little  comb  and  run  it  through  the 
curly  fringes.  "A  plume  that  will 
stand  combing  has  not  been  tied,"  was 
his  explanation;  "it  will  last  twelve 
years."  So  it  is  with  all  wares.  In- 
stead of  being  waited  upon  by  careless, 
snippy  girls,  of  the  sort  who  scare  timid 
men  in  American  stores,  the  male  cus- 
4  47 


Jr- 


tomer  is  served  by  an  intelligent,  pains- 
taking clerk  who  treats  his  ignorance 
seriously,  and  after  carefully  putting 
Mr.  Man  at  his  ease,  instructs  him 
wisely  in  the  great  art  of  shopping. 
Thus,  out  of  the  line  of  traffic,  in  the 
distant  Latin  Quarter,  it  continues  to 
prosper  beyond  any  similar  shop  any- 
where. 

The  Paris  fruit-stands  are  singularly 
ill-supplied.  The  variety  is  limited, 
and  the  quality  poor.  A  few  seedy 
pomegranates,  some  lemons,  little 
oranges,  big  green  apples,  and  rusty 
pears  are  the  staples.  In  the  hotel 
dining-rooms  fruit  is  sacred  and  sepa- 
rate from  the  bill  of  fare,  and  is  set 
upon  an  altar  for  inspection.  Bana- 
nas and  pineapples  are  rarities.  The 
splendor  of  the  hot-house  grapes  makes 
up  for  much,  however.  They  are  the 
most  magnificent  fruit  that  grows,  of 
extraordinary  size,  both  individually 
48 


and  as  bunches,  and  of  a  singular  deli- 
cacy in  flavor.  England,  Belgium,  and 
France  vie  in  their  production  with 
about  equal  success  in  quality.  The 
pomegranate  looks  like  a  rusty  onion, 
and  tastes  like  a  lot  of  small  seeds 
served  in  diluted  picric  acid.  The 
pulp  is  pink. 

There  is  but  one  woman's  club  in 
Paris,  and  it  is  composed  of  ladies  from 
the  American  colony.  The  French 
woman  preserves  her  rights  by  main- 
taining her  correct  position,  which  is 
that  of  the  manager  of  the  household 
and  its  funds,  the  bearer  and  protector 
of  the  children,  the  director  of  their 
affairs  until  they  have  households  of 
their  own,  by  devoting  herself  whole- 
somely to  her  husband — not  necessarily 
as  a  lord  and  master,  but  as  an  essential 
part  of  the  cosmogony  of  things  that 
be.  Her  duty  toward  him  is  consist-  c^^^ 
ent,  whatever  he  may  think  of  his  to  jUx 
49 


her.  In  brief,  she  is  a  good  hen,  who 
scratches,  contrives,  protects,  and  com- 
forts her  own! 

The  Paris  fishermen  who  pursue  the 
nimble  perch  from  the  quays  along  the 
Seine  use  about  five  inches  of  goose- 
quill,  hermetically  sealed,  for  a  float. 
It  is  very  sensitive,  and  as  the  fish  are 
tender  biters,  it  notes  the  least  nibble. 

The  French  landscape  is  becoming 
disfigured  with  signs.  The  chief  offend- 
ers are  the  Paris  edition  of  a  New  York 
newspaper  and  a  Pittsburg  pickle- 
maker.  Thus  does  America  impress 
her  ideals  of  beauty  upon  the  earth! 

MM.  Maurice  and  Philippe  Bunau- 
Varilla  have  painted  the  Paris  home 
of  Le  Matin  red  with  yellow  trimmings. 
Ditto  Le  Matin! 

Long  ago  Benedict  Masson  under- 
took to  paint  the  history  of  France  by 
periods  from  the  Merovingians  to  Bona- 
parte on  the  walls  of  the  C6te  d'Occi- 
50 


dent  and  C6te  d 'Orient  at  the  In- 
valides.  He  finished  most  of  it  up  to 
and  including  the  apotheosis  of  Napo- 
leon, but  oddly  enough  left  the  panel 
of  the  Revolution  incomplete,  though 
sketched  upon  the  stone.  The  paint- 
ing of  the  foreground  was  done,  but  the 
wild  figures  of  the  Sans-Culottes  show 
only  in  charcoal  outline,  but  all  the 
more  startling  and  vivid.  With  fine 
taste  the  French  have  never  allowed 
any  other  hand  to  intervene — and  per- 
haps behind  it  is  a  thought — that 
revolutions  are  never  ended ! 

To  impress  genuineness  the  butter- 
pats  in  Paris  are  stamped  with  the 
gentle  likeness  of  a  cow. 

Personally  conducted  battalions  of 
rural  recruits  are  taken  through  the  In- 
valides  in  Paris  mornings  to  be  shown 
the  glories  of  France  there  deposit- 
ed, and  to  stand  uncovered  in  a  red- 
and-blue  ring  around  the  balustrade 
51 


that  surrounds  the  tomb  of  the  great 
Napoleon.  Most  of  them  have  bullet 
heads,  and  do  not  look  intelligent. 

The  sandwich  men  in  Paris  wear 
neat  bluish  -  gray  uniforms  trimmed 
with  red:   in  London,  rags. 

English,  or  rather  American,  is  be- 
coming the  language  of  the  boulevards. 
At  the  1909  Thanksgiving  dinner  of 
the  American  Club  in  Paris,  M.  Georges 
Lecomte  gave  us  the  credit  for  preserv- 
ing in  speech  the  English  language  as 
written.  London  long  ago  lost  the 
clear  form  of  the  tongue. 

When  a  member  of  tne  French 
Cabinet  appears  at  a  public  function 
he  is  always  escorted  by  a  detail  of 
sabred  cuirassiers.  It  looks  funny  to 
see  a  pudgy  little  French  statesman 
toddling  down  a  hotel  corridor,  the 
back  of  his  head  in  a  straight  line  with 
the  tails  of  his  frock-coat,  and  a  much 
curved  front,  followed  by  a  column  of 
52 


huge  cavalrymen,  booted  and  spurred, 
with  brazen  helmets  and  horsehair 
plumes,  just  as  Meissonier  painted 
them  in  "1807."  Outside,  two  stand 
guard  on  horseback,  and  as  outriders 
escort  his  excellency  home. 

Paris    consumes    annually    seventy 
barrels  of  Cape  Cod  cranberries. 


Massena,  Garibaldi,  and  Gambetta 
came  from  Nice.  The  statue  of  the 
Marshal  stands  in  the  public  square, 
savage  in  feature  and  tall  in  figure. 
The  milder  form  of  Garibaldi  lives 
near  by  in  marble.  His  birthplace  van- 
ished when  the  harbor  was  enlarged  to 
make  way  for  the  crowding  ships  in  the 
tiny  haven  against  the  open  sea.  Gam- 
betta is  buried  in  the  cemetery  near 
the  Chateau  hilltop  which  is  the 
splendid  park  of  Nice,  rising  boldly 
from  the  centre  of  the  crescent  along 
S3 


which  the  city  lies,  and  commanding 
the  mountains  and  the  sea.  A  column 
of  water  carried  in  mains  from  the 
distant  mountain  springs  in  a  foam- 
ing fountain  from  the  peak,  and  rattles 
in  rivulets  to  the  level  of  the  town. 
The  cautious  Baedeker  bids  visitors  to 
the  spot  where  the  fiery  statesman 
was  "temporarily"  buried.  It  is  pre- 
served, but  he  lies  permanently  in- 
terred now  with  his  father  and  mother, 
under  a  monument  withoiit  grace  or 
character  —  a  reproach  to  France. 
There  is  no  inscription,  only  name  and 
date.  The  design  of  the  tomb  suggests 
a  thimble  on  a  button  box.  France  is 
a  great  country,  but  its  greatest  men, 
Bonaparte,  Mirabeau,  and  Gambetta, 
were  Italians.     Massena  was  a  Jew. 

The  contents  of  a  sepulchre  cannot 

be  judged  always  by  its  artistic  merits. 

In   St.  Peter's   at   Rome,  in  marked 

contrast  with  the  barbaric  altar  that 

54 


covers  St,  Peter's  crypt,  and  with  the 
great  sarcophagi  in  which  the  popes 
are  tucked  away  in  niches  in  the 
columns,  is  the  grave  of  the  three 
Stuarts — last  in  regular  order  of  the 
Scotch  Royalist  line:  James  and  his 
two  sons,  Charles  Edward — "Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie" — and  Henry,  Cardinal 
York.  It  is  built  of  the  flawless  Car- 
rara marble,  and  Canova  made  it  with 
his  matchless  chisel.  The  design  is 
Egyptian,  save  the  two  female  figures 
that  guard  the  portals,  angels  of  love- 
liness and  grace,  watching  the  door 
that  long  ago  closed  forever  upon  the 
three  personages  who  never  did  any- 
thing but  make  trouble  for  mankind. 
The  ghosts  of  Culloden  ought  to  flit 
about  it  when  all  the  lights  go  out  at 
night,  except  the  dim  lamps  at  the 
altars.  How  the  poor,  grim  land  of 
Scotland  could  worship  these  faithless 
Sybarites  and  attend  their  careless 
55 


S^J  'I 


'"I 


y\/m^  fortunes  with  blood  and  treasure  is 
a  puzzle  to  the  philosopher.  It  is 
a  far  glance  from  the  Flora  Mac- 
donald  at  seventy,  frail  and  simple, 
whom  Doctor  Johnson  and  the  faith- 
ful Boswell.  saw,  and  Charles  Edward 
in  his  splendid  tomb! 

Curiously,  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  with 
his  bar-sinister,  was  the  only  Stuart  to 
leave  a  family  that  persists  even  to- 
day, and  a  decent  name ! 


The  Austrian  haus-meister  is  even 
more  of  a  tyrant  than  the  French  con- 
cierge, which  is  saying  much.  He 
knows  no  law  but  the  landlord's.  The 
apartment  tenants  are  tolerated,  and 
that  is  all.  No  night -keys  are  al- 
lowed. If  one  is  out  after  ten  o'clock, 
P.M.,  in  Vienna,  the  haus-meister  makes 
a  charge  of  two  cents  for  opening  the 
56 


front  door.  This  includes  turning  on 
the  hghts  for  a  couple  of  minutes — 
long  enough  to  find  one's  portal.  The 
same  rule  applies  to  going  out  after 
ten.  In  Germany  night-keys  are  per- 
mitted, and  the  keyholes  are  funnel- 
shaped  to  encourage  easy  unlocking  in 
the  wee  hours.  Dropping  two  cents 
into  a  slot  turns  on  the  hall  electric 
lights  automatically  for  four  minutes. 
This  is  considered  long  enough  time 
in  which  to  locate  your  abiding-place. 
Callers  are  expected  to  pay  the  ele- 
vator man  two  cents  per  lift. 

Naples  ships  enormous  quantities 
of  macaroni  to  the  United  States.  It 
is  full  of  holes,  and  makes  a  light  cargo. 

The  electric  fish  in  the  Naples  aqua- 
rium is  kept  in  an  open  trough  with 
one  inch  and  a  half  of  water  in  it. 
The  fish  is  shaped  like  a  fiddle,  and  is 
about  fourteen  inches  long.  For  a 
cent  the  attendant  will  hold  the  fish 
57 


ij^i 


iv: 


up  by  the  tail  so  visitors  can  pinch  it 
gently  and  get  a  neat  little  shock  in 
^  return.  For  two  cents  the  man  will 
shoo  the  polyps  into  their  tubes,  and  for 
two  more  feed  a  soft-shell  crab  to  the 
devil-fish.  When  the  crab  gets  into 
range  the  octopus  envelops  it  in  his 
mantle,  and  all  is  o'er  but  the  digesting. 

Naples  at  night  is  nearly  as  lovely 
as  by  day,  when  viewed  from  the  bay. 
The  shore  line  is  marked  by  electric 
lights,  which  in  the  town  itself  are 
hidden  deep  in  the  narrow  streets ;  but 
the  avenues  along  the  hillsides  show 
their  lamps,  and  so  the  city  displays 
its  outlines  sharply  against  the  night 
like  a  great  glowing  diagram. 

Counterfeiting  is  still  a  considerable 
industry  in  Calabria.  It  is  good  form 
in  Naples  to  bite  all  silver  coin  before 
accepting  it  in  payment  or  in  change. 

An  Italian  house-servant  will  cook 
a  five-course  meal  with  as  many  cents' 
S8 


worth  of  charcoal,  all  hot,  and  when 
the  last  course  is  served  the  flame  will 
be  out,  with  little  ash  and  no  waste 
of  heat  energy.  The  cookery  will  be 
excellent,  and  the  cook  will  act  as 
waitress.  She  also  does  the  general 
house-work.  Her  wages,  according  to 
standard,  are  25  lire,  or  $4.50,  per 
month.  An  American  household  cook 
will  consume  one  hundred  pounds  of 
anthracite  in  performing  the  same 
task,  and  deliver  half  of  the  dishes 
lukewarm,  though  stove  and  kitchen 
will  be  red  hot,  and  a  waitress  must  do 
the  serving;  wages  from  four  to  five 
times  higher,  plus  the  other  girl's  pay. 
The  grape  is  not  trellised  in  the 
south  of  France,  and  is  ruthlessly 
pruned  down  to  a  stump  about  eigh- 
teen inches  high  from  which  each 
spring  the  desperate  plant  sends  new 
shoots  in  its  determination  to  save  its 
life,  while,  following  the  same  im- 
59 


pulse,  the  fruit  grows  bountifully  in 
/  jf  -.=»hope  that  its  seed  will  fall  into  the 
■ij'ii^  earth,  and  that,  though  a  plant  may 
die,  the  grape  shall  grow  forever! 

Continental  cooks  are  shy  in  the  use 
of  salt  as  a  seasoning.  For  centuries 
salt  has  been  heavily  taxed.  This  has 
taught  economy,  and  perhaps  explains 
the  universal  use  of  unsalted  butter. 

The  volcanoes  of  Vesuvius,  -^tna, 
Stromboli  and  Teneriff  e  seem  to  be  under 
the  management  of  the  same  syndicate. 

While  there  are  usually  dogs  enough 
in  Cos  Cob  and  elsewhere,  some  fancier 
would  make  a  hit  by  introducing  the 
Lupino,  the  little  wolf-dog  of  Italy,  in 
America.  He  is  a  cream-colored  chap, 
about  the  size  of  a  fox,  and  looking 
something  like  one,  quiet,  clean,  and 
faithful. 

The  poor,   benighted   Hindoo  runs 

most  of  the  tailor  shops  at  Gibraltar. 

60 


In  Gibraltar  the  lower  sections  of 
the  window-blinds  open  outwardly 
from  the  frames,  and  the  Spanish  girls 
look  down  engagingly  from  beneath 
the  green  awnings  thus  formed.  Only 
saloons,  bake -shops,  and  cigar  stores 
are  open  Sunday  afternoons. 

The  Eastern  Telegraph  Company  at 
Gibraltar  will  accept  nothing  but  Eng- 
lish money  for  messages.  It  thus  af- 
fords the  only  squeamishness  visible  at 
the  port.  Everybody  else  will  take 
anything,  while  the  little  peddling 
boys  prattle  of  dimes  and  quarters. 

The  Mediterranean  side  of  Gibral- 
tar, which  travelling  Americans  expect 
to  see  decorated  with  Brother  Dry- 
den's  Prudential  Insurance  sign,  has 
been  greatly  altered  in  its  general  as- 
pect by  the  construction  on  the  slopes 
of  two  huge  concrete  esplanades  de- 
signed to  catch  and  convey  to  cisterns 
the  rain-water  upon  which  the  Rock 
6i 


must  depend  in  case  of  siege.  A  road 
also  runs  along  the  base  as  a  result  of 
this  intrusion  of  utility. 

Portuguese  gardeners  at  Ponta  Del- 
gada,  on  St.  Michael's,  Azores,  are 
getting  rich  raising  fine  pineapples 
under  glass  for  the  New  York  market. 
They  are  the  biggest  and  best  that 
reach  that  favored  town. 

In  the  Museum  at  Naples  are  some 
loaded  dice  with  which  Pompeiian 
crap-players  landed  sure  things  two 
thousand  years  ago. 

Personally  the  French  edible  snail  is 
much  more  comely  in  appearance  than 
the  American  oyster.  His  amber  shell 
is  large  enough  to  half  fill  a  tea-cup, 
and  neatness  is  a  marked  characteristic 
in  his  get-up,  compared  with  the  oyster, 
who,  at  the  best,  is  muddy  and  un- 
couth. The  calcareous  rock  along  the 
Mediterranean  is  full  of  snails,  which 
snuggle  in  the  little  hollows  of  the  stone 
62 


and  thrive  in  the  delicate  dampness  of 
the  minute  caves.  Snails  come  to 
market  packed  in  layers  in  baskets. 
Science  calls  them  molluscs,  which 
puts  them  on  a  social  equality  with  the 
clam.  The  snail  can  move  around,  a 
privilege  denied  his  hard-shelled  cousin, 
but  is  just  as  reserved. 

The  French  have  a  smart  scheme  to 
save  switching  in  cutting  cars  out  of  the 
train.  A  section  of  track  is  set  on  a 
truck,  running  transversely,  the  train 
is  separated,  and  a  car  moved  in  or 
out  as  required,  without  disturbing 
the  rest  of  the  make-up. 

French  lights  are  the  best  along  the 
shores,  say  the  navigators.  They  are 
posted  low,  close  to  the  water-line,  and  so 
do  not  mislead  like  the  Italian  Pharos 
perched  high  above  the  sea.  They  have 
the  best  lenses,  and  are  always  visible. 

There  do  not  seem  to  be  any  barb- 
ers in  France.     Instead,  the  * '  coiffeur ' ' 

5  63 


^^v- 


abounds.  There  are  no  barber's  chairs, 
and  one  must  sit  up  in  a  straight  seat 
to  have  a  hair-cut,  and  always  in  fear 
of  being  sent  away  in  curl-papers. 

French  car -tracks  are  intelligently 
labelled.  "Direction  Marseilles"  and 
"Direction  Vintimil"  tell  which  side  of 
the  way  one  should  choose  at  the 
stations. 


Mule  is  a  "mulct"  in  France.  With 
the  rare  skill  in  getting  the  most  for 
the  money,  the  cross  is  usually  made 
between  the  donkey  and  the  huge 
Norman  horse.  The  result  is  a  clumsy 
nondescript,  beside  which  the  Ken- 
tucky or  Missouri  mule  is  as  graceful  as 
a  gazelle.  Deprived  of  the  privileges  of 
paternity  and  condemned  to  move  at 
a  walk,  with  hind  legs  too  massive  for 
kicking,  M.  Mulet  is  a  melancholy  object. 

In  France  old  railroad-ties  are  not 
64 


burned  in  heaps  by  the  track-side  as  in 
America,  but  reappear  as  fence  -  posts, 
palisades,  and  in  other  useful  forms. 

Paris  lawyers  do  business  at  home. 
They  do  not  maintain  rooms  in  office 
buildings.  Engagements  have  to  be 
made  with  them  by  letter. 

The  Marseilles  newspapers  really  print 
news.  Those  of  Paris  talk  politics  and 
scandal,  and  have  the  big  circulations. 

Traction-engines  draw  heavy  van- 
loads  over  the  fine  French  roads. 

The  habit  of  wearing  uniforms  when 
possible,  which  is  usually  credited  to 
French  vanity,  has  a  sound  economic 
reason  behind  it.  Uniforms  are  not 
costly,  and  look  neat  always.  They 
advertise  the  wearer's  occupation, 
which  is  an  advantage  to  him  and  a 
convenience  to  the  public.  Even  the 
workingman's  blouse  carries  a  certain 
distinction  with  it  in  pleasant  contrast 
to  the  sloppy  clothes  worn  by  indus- 
65 


trial  Americans.  The  blouse  is  inex- 
pensive, easily  kept  clean,  and  protects 
the  person  thoroughly. 

The  French  freight-cars,  like  the 
French  people,  are  always  prepared  for 
war.  On  the  side  of  each  in  white  let- 
ters one  reads,  "Hommes  40.  Chevaux 
8,"  which  suggests  a  military  table  of 
contents  rather  more  comfortable  for 
the  "Chevaux  "  than  for  the  "hommes." 


The  palaces  of  the  merchant  princes 
in  Genoa  are  now  in  many  cases  steam- 
ship offices,  a  proper  enough  trans- 
formation when  you  come  to  think  of 
it.  Genoa  is  the  richest  of  Italian 
cities.  The  wealth  of  the  world  poured 
through  her  gates  for  a  thousand  years 
and  left  a  liberal  toll.  The  steamships 
lie  thick  in  the  harbor  like  oxen  in  their 
stalls,  "laden  with  treasures  from 
realms  afar,"  where  once  the  galley- 
66 


XL 


^L 


i-^^ 


HOMfS 


^ 


^5 


^C3 


slaves  eased  their  wearied  backs,  and 
healed  the  scars  that  followed  the  task- 
masters' whips  as  they  speeded  about 
the  Mediterranean  Sea  in  the  service  of 
the  strenuous  little  republic,  as  it 
threw  its  glove  into  the  face  of  all  who 
would  meet  the  challenge.  The  King  of 
Italy  has  never  visited  his  noblest  city. 
He  is  quoted  as  saying  there  is  too 
much '  *  style ' '  there  for  him  to  cope  with . 
There  are  also  too  many  anarchists. 

In  the  centre  of  busiest  Genoa  there 
is  a  beautiful  small  park,  the  Piazza 
Corvetta  (Aqua  Solon).  It  rises  high 
above  the  level  of  the  town,  and  from 
the  topmost  part  a  torrent  breaks  forth 
and  falls  in  cascades  a  hundred  feet 
down  the  cliff-side  through  glen  and 
grotto  with  a  miniature  Cave  of  the 
Winds  imder  the  widest  sweep  of  the 
water.  Water-fowl  play  in  the  pool, 
with  now  and  then  the  odd  companion- 
ship of  sea-gulls,  who  drop  in  to  be 
67 


sociable  and  to  rest  amid  ripples  and 
flowers  from  the  everlasting  buffet  with 
the  wind  and  wave  at  sea.  At  the  en- 
trance of  the  Piazza  is  a  bronze  eques- 
trian statue  of  Victor  Emmanuel  and 
his  magnificent  whiskers,  but  towering 
above  it  in  marble  against  the  greenery 
of  the  hill  is  the  greater  figure  of  Joseph 
Mazzini,  emblazoned  with  "Liberte, 
Uguaglianza,  Fratellanza,"  in  silent 
significance  of  the  fact  that  ideas — 
not  kings — rule  even  in  Italy. 

The  house  where  Christopher  Colum- 
bus was  bom  still  stands  in  Genoa — 
at  least  the  tablet  on  the  wall  says  so. 
He  is  buried  in  the  Cathedral  at  Santo 
Domingo;  also  in  the  one  at  Havana, 
and  in  another  at  Seville. 

The  women  of  Genoa  are  short  in 
stature  but  comely,  with  many  blondes 
among  them — as  might  be  expected  in 
a  port  of  German  call! 

The  men  in  Italy  are  atheists,  the 
68 


women  Catholics.  In  every  shop  kept 
by  women  a  Httle  lamp  is  always  burn- 
ing before  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

An  iron  ship  named  Hanna  being 
broken  up  at  Genoa  suggested  thoughts 
of  home. 

Genoa  has  the  finest  candy-shops 
and  delicatessen  stores  in  Europe. 
Candied  fruits  are  here  produced  in 
perfection,  mammoth  in  size  and  com- 
plete in  preservation. 

The  magnificent  statue  of  Chris- 
topher Columbus,  which  stands  in  the 
plaza  before  the  railroad  station  in 
Genoa,  shows  the  figure  of  an  Ameri- 
can Indian  crouching  at  his  side  hold- 
ing a  cross  in  his  hand.  The  sculptor 
is  in  error.  It  was  the  double-cross 
which  Mr.  Colon  gave  the  aborigines. 

Some  of  the  statues  of  Victor  Em- 
manuel in  Italy  are  graced  with  bronze 
ladies  of  most  ample  figure — a  pleas- 
ant testimonial  of  His  Majesty's  ideals. 
69 


The  biggest  sign  on  an  Italian  rail- 
road station  reads  usually  "Uscita." 
Green  travellers  wonder  why  so  many 
towns  should  have  the  same  name  until 
they  learn  that  it  means  the  way  out. 

The  Eucalyptus-tree  is  the  tallest 
on  the  Riviera.  It  sheds  its  bark  in- 
stead of  its  leaves. 

Nick  Carter  and  Buffalo  Bill  are 
loose  in  Italy.  The  former  parades 
on  the  Kiosque  news-stalls  as  "  II  Gran 
Polizetts  America,"  but  Colonel  Cody 
is  without  foreign  guise,  killing  In- 
dians and  buffaloes  with  both  hands 
and  characteristic  abandon. 

Orange  marmalade  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  breakfasts  abroad.  Most  of  it 
comes  from  Glasgow.  Other  forms  of 
fruit  jams  are  purveyed,  but  usually 
they  are  muddy  and  tasteless  if  of 
English  origin.  This  description  does 
not  apply  to  the  jellies  of  Bar  le  Due. 
70 


These  are  the  choicest  made — and  are 
hard  to  get — outside  of  New  York. 

It  is  nineteen  hours  from  Marseilles 
to  Algiers. 

The  Asylum  for  the  Insane  in  Naples 
is  a  great  building,  beside  which  runs  a 
busy  thoroughfare.  The  open-barred 
windows  are  packed  with  the  heads  of 
the  daft  people,  who  hurl  mad  per- 
siflage at  the  passers-by.  The  shrill 
voices  of  the  women  and  the  violent 
laughter  of  the  men  make  a  medley 
that  can  be  likened  only  to  the  cries  of 
many  strange  birds  in  some  great 
aviary.  The  street  crowd  talks  back 
vivaciously  to  the  insane  interlocutors, 
and  the  continuous  excitement  thus  en- 
gendered is  a  neighborhood  attraction. 

The  returning  Italians  show  the 
habits  of  waste  acquired  in  America  by 
playing  football  with  their  more  than 
ample  allowance  of  bread.  The  ship's 
scuppers  get  full  of  it.  But  when  Italy 
71 


i'^    heaves  into  view  this  ceases,  and  the 
spare  loaves  are  tucked  into  bags  and 
bosoms  to  afford  sustenance  for  the 
^  first  hungry  days  on  shore. 

/  A  popular  pork  sausage  in  Italy  is 
formed  by  taking  out  the  bone  and 
muscle  in  the  skin  of  a  pig's  foreleg 
and  filling  in  the  sack  thus  produced. 

Liberty  in  Europe  is  the  privilege  of 
doing  as  you  please  for  yourself;  in 
America  it  is  regarded  as  a  right  to  do 
what  you  please  to  others. 

The  olive-tree,  though  seeming  large 
in  pictures,  is  usually  small.  The  foli- 
age has  the  tint  of  the  willow.  The 
trunk  has  the  look  of  strength  over- 
burdened, bent  and  gnarled  by  its 
load,  and  as  if  weary  of  bringing  fruit 
out  of  the  scanty  soil  in  which  it  main- 
tains its  life. 

The  cup  St.  Jacques,  which  in  New 
York  is  a  dessert  of  delight,  with  its 
peaches,    cherries,   pineapple,   orange, 
72 


and  citron  en  compote  in  delicate  ices, 
becomes  in  Paris  a  wretched  compound  (^""s"" 
of  sliced  sour  apple  embedded  in  mushy 
snow. 

In  Germany  the  father  is  head  of  the 
family,  in  France  the  mother,  in  Eng- 
land the  eldest  son,  in  America  the 
daughter. 

Marriage  in  Austria  is  strictly  an  affair 
of  the  Church ;  in  Hungary,  of  the  State. 
Divorce  prevails,  therefore,  only  in  the 
Hungarian  part  of  the  Dual  Kingdom. 

To  see  Europe  comfortably  one 
should  possess  a  rubber  collar  and  a 
rubber  neck. 

Tears  rarely  flow  when  an  Italian 
baby  cries.  Temper,  not  grief,  is  the 
motive  power  of  its  complaints. 

It  costs  four  cents  to  escort  a  friend 
to  the  cars  in  the  big  Italian  stations. 
This  keeps  idlers  out,  and  lets  people 
enjoy  a  pleasure  and  convenience  usual- 
ly denied  in  the  United  States. 
73 


The  mustache  is  a  military  factor  in 
France,  Italy,  and  Germany.  It  lends 
valor  to  official  countenances  other- 
wise mild  and  timid.  In  Italy,  King 
Emmanuel  III.  sets  the  style.  In  Ger- 
many the  Emperor's  butterflies  form 
the  mode.  France,  being  a  republic, 
has  no  fixed  standard,  the  fur  being 
spiked,  frizzled,  or  sprayed  accord- 
ing to  fancy.  Even  as  Samson  lost  his 
strength  by  being  sheared,  so  wo  aid 
the  percentage  of  commanding  courage 
go  down  in  the  three  countries  if  clean 
shaving  were  enforced. 

Probably  the  most  travelled  oysters 
in  the  world  are  the  Blue  Points  that 
journey  to  Genoa  and  regale  Americans 
on  the  return  trip  to  New  York. 

The  best  way  to  devour  the  sweet  lit- 
tle Calabrian  orange  is  to  cut  into  halves 
across  the  sections,  and  then  eat  di- 
rectly out  of  the  cup  thus  formed  with- 
out the  help  of  a  spoon.  Thus  the  juice 
74 


does  not  get  away,  save  perhaps  for 
a  few  drops  on  the  nose,  and  the  deli- 
cate flavor  of  the  peel  is  added  to  the 
delectation  the  pulp  pays  to  the  palate. 

The  turbot  is  not  half  as  good  eat- 
ing as  the  chicken  halibut;  sole,  as 
usually  served,  are  not  in  it  with  the 
Cos  Cob  flounder,  while  lake  whitefish 
are  unmatched  by  any  European  pisces. 
Uncle  Sam  could  lead  the  world  gastro- 
nomically  if  he  would  learn  how  to  cook. 

Whiskey-and-soda,  which  is  British 
for  highball,  costs  two  francs  at  Cap 
Martin. 


Paprika,  the  savor  of  Hungary,  looks 
hot,  but  is  merely  red.  It  is  an  agree- 
able condiment,  but  one  drop  of  Lou- 
isiana tabasco  sauce  contains  more 
horse-power  than  a  ton  of  it. 

The  Hungarian  nobles  have  discov- 
ered the  American  heiress.  They  are  an 
attractive  type  of  idler  whose  charm  is 
75 


hard  to  resist,  and  the  young  woman 
of  millions  is  easily  led  into  asking 
papa  or  his  executors  to  buy  one  for 
her.  They  come  high  because  of  an 
amazing  ability  for  acquiring  debts, 
which  must  be  paid  if  the  heiress  is  to 
have  any  social  position  at  the  Vienna 
Court.  When  one  of  these  choice 
specimens  glitters  into  view  he  is 
something  to  remember.  The  fur  cap, 
with  jewelled  aigrette,  the  scarlet  jack- 
et heavy  with  bullion  braid,  the  waist- 
coat of  cloth  of  gold,  the  skin-tight 
trousers,  the  high,  brightly  varnished, 
tasselled  boots,  and  the  dangling  blade, 
half  sword,  half  scimitar,  which  jingles 
in  its  gilt  scabbard,  in  loud  accompani- 
ment to  walk  or  waltz,  make  the  youth 
a  veritable  bird  -  of  -  paradise  to  the 
American  female  eye,  when  compared 
with  the  men-folks  at  home.  He  is  a 
bird  who  takes  easy  flight  with  the 
cash.  Then  the  feudal  life  has  a  charm. 
76 


Russia  and  Hungary  are  the  only  coun- 
tries left  where  the  abject  peasants  stand 
in  awe,  uncovered,  with  bowed  heads 
while  the  carriage  of  the  grand  Seigneur 
goes  dashing  by,  drawn  by  a  string  of"-s^^$:^5c 
half -tamed  horses  in  a  wild  gallop, 
driven  by  a  coachman  in  brilliant  livery, 
decked  with  enormous  buttons,  and 
reckless  as  Phaeton  with  whip  and  rein. 
Meanwhile  this  recent  drift  of  Amer- 
ican fortunes  by  the  female  route  to 
Eastern  Europe  suggests  the  curious 
thought  that  the  peasant  cannot  es- 
cape his  thrall.  When  the  Hun  shifts 
from  the  great  estates  of  his  native 
land,  and  seeks  betterment  in  the 
mines  or  on  the  railroads  of  America, 
the  profits  of  his  toil  still  go  to  support 
the  luxury  of  his  lords. 


Ireland,   as   it   first   appears,   looks 
unfertile  and  forbidding  from  the  sea, 
77 


but  the  smooth  hills  about  Queens- 

V\   town  show  fine  farms  and  substantial 

/    farm-buildings.     The  trees  are  missing 

factors  in  the  landscape.     They  are  few 

and  stunted. 

Sausage  is  served  as  an  adjunct  to 
roast  chicken  on  the  Great  Western 
dining-cars.  It  rather  resembles  a 
frankfurter  in  flavor  and  texture.  The 
dining-car  service  is  diligent  and  well- 
meaning,  and  the  food  is  simple  and 
plain.  The  car  itself  has  about  the 
same  aspect  of  luxury  as  a  freight 
caboose  on  the  New  Haven  Railroad. 

Most  Englishwomen  should  be  pre- 
vented by  law  from  wearing  evening 
dress.  The  costume  was  designed  to 
uncover  curves,  not  angles. 

Politeness  without  subserviency  is  a 
difficult  thing  to  acquire.  The  Con- 
tinentals have  it  alone.  The  polite 
Englishman  is  a  crawling  worm.  There 
are  no  polite  Americans. 
78 


Some  twenty  thousand  farm-hands 
go  from  Ireland  to  England  each  year 
to  help  gather  the  harvests.  Readers 
of  London  papers  get  the  idea  that 
there  are  no  crops,  and  that  there  is 
no  work  for  common  hands.  The 
cockney  does  not  understand  the  soil, 
and  is  afraid  of  the  frogs  and  crickets. 

Londoners  still  take  just  pride  in 
their  exquisite  fog,  but  so  many  tun- 
nels have  been  bored  through  it  in 
recent  years  that  it  no  longer  seriously 
impedes  what  is  called  "getting  about " 
in  England.  The  quality  is  really  lit- 
tle better  than  that  of  New  York, 
though  more  persistent. 

Bronze  effigies  of  half  a  dozen  Knight 
Templars  in  full  uniform  stud  the  floor 
in  the  Chapel  of  the  London  Temple, 
which  they  built  during  the  Crusades. 
Several  lie  with  their  legs  crossed,  as  a 
sign  that  they  went  to  Palestine.  So 
says  the  doorkeeper  for  a  sixpence, 
fi  79 


London  and  Paris  hotels,  like  those 
of  New  York,  fail  to  provide  a  hook 
from  which  to  hang  a  razor-strop. 

The  taxicab  has  discovered  London 
to  itself,  and  ordinary  people  now  move 
about  in  competition  with  the  Ameri- 
cans and  the  nobility.  The  imposing 
four-wheeler  and  the  picturesque  han- 
som are  nearly  extinct,  and  the  cab- 
drivers  show  signs  of  wear.  The  taxis 
are  bigger,  better,  and  faster  than  those 
of  New  York,  and  even  more  in  evi- 
dence. Paris  swarms  with  them,  but 
the  cabman  is  making  a  stronger  stand 
than  in  London. 

The  stickum  on  the  British  postage- 
stamps  is  much  more  adhesive  than  on 
those  of  the  U.  S.  A. 

Since  Queen  Elizabeth  quit,  Ameri- 
cans and  Irish  have  done  the  most  to 
improve  London. 

George  Bernard  Shaw  lives  on  the 
London  comer  nearest  to  the  Sav- 
80 


age  Club,  at  Adelphi  Street  and 
the  Thames  Embankment.  Wayfaring 
members  sometimes  pause  to  weep  on 
his  doorstep  in  the  still  hours  of  the 
night. 

England,  France,  and  Germany  are 
strongly  socialistic,  but  with  a  differ- 
ence. In  the  two  latter,  labor  is  or- 
ganized to  produce,  in  the  former  to 
reduce.  The  result  in  each  case  is  ob- 
vious. 

English  reverence  for  royalty  is  deep- 
seated,  so  long  as  royalty  is  merely 
royal.  A  king  who  tried  to  rule  in 
Britain  would  seriously  injure  his 
health. 

London  women  enjoy  a  privilege  not 
accorded  their  New  York  sisters.  They 
are  permitted  to  hop  on  and  off  the 
motor-busses  while  in  motion.  Flat 
feet  make  this  an  easy  accomplishment. 

The  sidewalks  on  the  Strand  are  of 
the  same  width  as  those  along  Wash- 
8i 


ington  Street,  Boston.  This  creates  an 
appearance  of  crowd  and  bustle,  where 
the  push  is  really  light  for  a  big  town. 

The  Cetadorus  is  a  new  London  vis- 
itor. He  is  a  stuffed  fish  with  a  head 
like  the  green  Morays  in  the  New  York 
aquarium,  and  forms  a  part  of  the  win- 
dow exhibit  made  by  Queensland  in 
an  effort  to  lure  Londoners  to  Australia, 
where  they  would  have  to  work  for  a 
living  instead  of  being  fed  by  the 
Salvation  Army,  and  used  as  an  ob- 
ject-lesson by  the  Tariff  party.  He  is 
three  feet  long,  but  can  grow  bigger. 
Turtles  and  other  natural-history  speci- 
mens keep  him  company.  Canada  also 
has  a  window  on  the  Strand  where  fine 
apples  and  big  ears  of  yellow  com  are 
displayed  to  contemplative  Cockneys. 

The  English  Parliament  sits  for  the 
major  part  at  night.  Members  get  no 
salaries.  So  many  of  them  are  law- 
yers that  they  are  allowed  to  get  in  a 
82 


day's  work  in  office  and  courts  before 
serving  the  State. 

The  tails  of  English  shirts  are  about 
seven  inches  longer  than  those  made  in 
America. 

The  very  efficient  London  fire  de- 
partment does  not  lodge  its  ladder 
companies  in  houses,  nor  haul  the  truck 
with  horses.  The  extension  -  ladders 
are  kept  in  the  centre  of  the  street,  and 
the  few  men  needed  to  operate  them  are 
ensconced  in  little  huts  of  corrugated 
iron,  also  in  the  centre  of  the  roadway. 
In  New  York  little  wanton  boys  would 
tip  the  house  over  and  run  away  with 
the  little  ladder  and  its  two-wheeled 
truck.  The  idea  is  sound,  however, 
for  it  covers  the  thought  that  the  first 
duty  is  to  rescue  the  inmates  of  the 
burning  structure,  and  put  out  the  fire 
afterward,  against  the  American  im- 
pulse to  make  a  record  getting  the  hose 
on  and  letting  the  police  free  those  in 
83 


peril.  The  ladders  are  short  and  light 
because  all  the  buildings  are  low. 

English  divorce  figures  are  mislead- 
ing. They  do  not  spell  extraordinary- 
felicity.  Divorce  cases  can  be  heard 
only  in  London.  It  costs  $750  for  the 
commonest  garden  variety.  This  is  be- 
yond the  means  of  most  oppressed 
ladies  and  some  men.  The  estimate  is 
that  there  are  eighty  thousand  couples 
living  apart  who  cannot  muster  the 
price  of  a  legal  separation. 

In  London  the  subway  is  called  a 
"choob,"  in  Paris  a  "souterrain." 
More  are  being  constructed  in  the  latter 
city,  but  without  pulling  the  whole 
town  up  by  the  roots. 

The  usual  Briton  has  a  greater 
capacity  for  unexpressed  thought  than 
any  other  citizen  of  the  world. 

There  is  something  feline  about  the 
sea — ^like  a  tigress,  beautiful  and  grace- 
84 


ful,  yet  ever  ready  to  destroy.  The 
waves  caress  but  to  despoil.  They 
climb  lovingly  over  the  fabric  of  the 
ship  only  to  carry  away  all  that  is  not 
secured.  The  fingers  of  the  foam  find 
every  crevice  through  which  to  reach 
carpets,  curtains,  and  cushions  in  the 
cabins.  Every  open  port  is  an  invita- 
tion to  mischievous  handfuls  of  spray 
to  invade  and  spatter  about  when  not 
in  the  least  expected,  while  the  im- 
pelling waves  run  away  chuckling  at 
the  success  of  the  surprise.  It  lays 
traps  for  the  unwary  into  which  the 
best  seamen  fall.  It  never  can  be 
trusted,  even  in  the  smiling  moments 
of  calm;  while  as  for  its  tricky  part- 
ner, the  wind,  the  least  said  the  better. 
Only  the  barometer's  spring  in  its 
vacuum  chamber  knows  the  real  limits 
of  its  perfidy. 

Pretty  boys  of  eleven  and  twelve,  in 
caps  and  buttons,  do  the  small  civili- 
8S 


ties  on  the  big  Cunarders  and  rank  as 
petty  officers,  a  hark  back  to  the  days 
of  Captain  Marryat,  when  the  mini- 
ature middies  ordered  the  pig-tailed 
shell-backs  around. 

On  English  liners,  Sunday  mornings, 
trays  of  prayer  and  hymn  books  are 
distributed  in  the  dining-saloon,  and 
the  captain  reads  the  service  of  the 
Church  of  England.  On  the  German 
vessels,  before  the  rising  call  in  the 
morning,  the  musicians  play  the  air  of 
"Luther's  Hymn"  sweetly,  and  the 
day's  formal  devotions  are  over. 

In  a  turbine  steamer  the  rhythmic 
thumping  of  the  pistons  disappears, 
and  instead  the  engines  give  out  a  thin 
soprano  song  that  rises  or  falls  in  key 
with  the  speed,  sometimes  suggesting  a 
continuous  squeal  from  the  struggling 
giants  of  steam  striving  to  escape  out  of 
their  close  confinement  inside  the  big 
iron  jackets  which  give  no  hint  of  power. 
86 


Steamship  working-hours  are  four  on 
and  eight  off  to  the  end  of  the  voyage. 

When  the  ship's  band  plays  its  Httle 
batches  of  opera  or  familiar  tunes,  the 
faces  of  the  Italians  light  up,  and  toes 
and  hands  make  immediate  response 
to  the  melody.  American  airs  evoke  no 
such  interest  among  our  compatriots. 
Nothing  melodious  really  thrills  the  av- 
erage American  citizen  except  a  bass- 
drum  solo,  or  the  rosined  fence -rail 
rubbed  backward  and  forward  over  an 
empty  dry-goods  box  at  a  charivari. 

The  lever  of  Archimedes  does  not 
move  the  world.  It  is  the  coal  of  Car- 
diff that  does  the  job.  In  all  the  ports 
of  the  world,  outside  of  America,  the 
collier  is  forever  discharging  its  grimy 
cargo,  and  dull  barges  drift  from  dock 
to  dock  unloading  the  compressed  car- 
bon into  the  bunkers  of  the  steamers 
that  go  up  and  down  and  across  the 
seas.  Some  time  England  must  crush 
87 


in  like  a  hollow  tooth  and  disappear. 
In  the  Mediterranean  ports  men  carry 
the  fuel  from  barge  to  bunker  in  bas- 
kets, taking  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
much  severe  labor. 

A  hair-cut  costs  twenty-five  cents 
on  the  Mediterranean  steamers  of  the 
North  German  Lloyd.  The  inter- 
preter in  their  Genoa  office  will  not 
take  tips. 

Runners  of  all  sorts  board  the  ship 
at  Gibraltar,  representihg  hotels,  caf^, 
stores,  hackmen,  and  Mrs.  Warren's 
profession. 

The  porpoise  has  a  better  engine 
than  even  Mr.  Parson's  turbine.  When 
curious  about  the  Lusitania  or  Maure- 
tania  he  keeps  up  readily  at  a  26-knot 
clip,  and  turns  flippantly  away  when 
satisfied.  No  one  shovels  eleven  hun- 
dred tons  of  coal  into  his  midst  per  day 
either. 

The  North  German  liners  to  the 
88 


Mediterranean  from  New  York  go  one 
hundred  miles  out  of  their  way  to  show 
passengers  the  Azores,  and  then  do 
not  stop  for  landing. 


For  reasons  impossible  to  discover 
the  members  of  the  band  on  German 
ships  have  also  to  serve  as  second- 
cabin  stewards.  Perhaps  it  is  to  keep 
them  humble.  Beds  made  in  the 
morning,  theyliasten  to  give  their  ten- 
o'clock  concert.  At  eve  they  must 
feed  their  charges  at  six,  so  as  to  en- 
tertain the  first-class  diners  at  seven. 
The  second-cabin  supply  of  melody  is 
limited  to  the  rising  call  and  the  chin 
music  from  the  steerage. 

The  wind-gauge  on  shipboard  regis- 
ters up  to  105  miles  an  hour,  which 
is  as  much  speed  as  any  one  expects 
Messrs.  Boreas,  Eurus,  Notus  &  Co. 
to  get  up. 

89 


The  Cunarders  serve  broken  bits  of 
butter-scotch  candy  along  with  the 
afternoon  tea  aboard  ship. 

The  Cunard  cuisine  serves  all  cereals 
in  large  soup-plates.  The  cream  comes 
in  little  brown  jugs,  bearing  a  Liver- 
pool label  and  sealed  with  a  paper  cap. 
Most  of  the  food  items,  except  fish, 
out  of  New  York  are  British,  which 
helps  to  break  in  the  palate  for  what 
is  to  come. 

The  physical  distance  between  the 
first  and  second  cabins  is  about  six 
feet,  the  social  barrier  some  three 
miles,  while  the  caged  animals  of  the 
steerage  are  not  within  the  range  of 
thought,  although  in  some  respects 
the  best  paying  part  of  a  cargo. 

The  Lusitania  is  something  like  the 
Waldorf-Astoria  afloat,  Peacock  Alley 
and  all. 

"Owing  to  the  complaints  of  pas- 
sengers" the  Cunard  company  "inti- 
90 


^''^^ 


mates"  that  the  practice  of  pipe- 
smoking  in  the  lounge  is ' '  discouraged. ' ' 
There  is  no  prohibition,  however.  The 
Briton  may  be  "discouraged,"  but  he 
is  not  to  be  "refused"  the  privilege  of 
offending  the  noses  of  others  if  he  so 
wills,  where  he  has  paid  for  it.  Plac- 
ing the  feet  of  gentlemen  on  the  couches 
is  also  discouraged.  This  is  an  Ameri- 
can weakness,  which  is  so  gently  dis- 
approved of. 

An  eleven-thousand-ton  ship  running 
fifteen  sea-miles  an  hour  will  consume 
one  hundred  and  fifty  tons  of  coal  per 
day.  A  thirty-thousand-ton  ship  go- 
ing twenty-five  miles  per  hour  will  use 
up  eleven  hundred  tons.  Haste  makes 
waste  at  sea  as  well  as  elsewhere. 

Travellers  at  sea  like  to  talk  of  the 
steadiness  of  ships — other  than  the 
one  they  are  on  board,  and  to  give  re- 
markable examples  of  freedom  from 
shake  and  sickness-.  One  fact  remains : 
91 


., ^  / 


1 


When  the  sea  kicks  up,  the  voyagers 
on  any  craft,  however  large,  soon  learn 
they  are  not  navigating  on  a  billiard 
table. 

The  wreck  of  the  Slavonia  still  shows 
above  the  waves  at  Flores.  The  an- 
cient boast  of  the  Cunarders  that  they 
never  lost  a  passenger  has  usually  been 
made  good  by  a  North  German  ship 
coming  to  the  rescue. 

The  brig  is  the  favorite  sea-craft  in 
Southern  France  and  Spain.  The 
sailormen  like  to  name  their  vessels 
after  saints,  in  the  hope,  perhaps,  that 
the  namesake  will  supplement  the 
efforts  of  the  sweet  little  cherub  who 
sits  up  aloft  and  looks  out  for  the  life 
of  poor  Jack. 

The  steerage  speedily  reduces  men, 
women,  and  children  to  their  lowest 
terms.  Here  is  the  clearest  kind  of 
equality :  Names  give  way  to  numbers, 
and  superior  agility  in  getting  into  line 
92 


for  the  soup,  stew,  bread,  and  wine  is 
the  single  advantage  possible.  In//^ 
sunshine  the  steerage  holds  a  cheerful 
throng,  playful  and  gossiping,  but 
when  evil  weather  falls  it  becomes  a 
stv.  The  sick  wallow  in  their  table  of 
contents,  and  despair  is  the  only  emo- 
tion known. 

The  distinctive  thing  about  the 
steerage  is  its  smell,  at  once  pervasive 
and  indefinable,  suggesting  the  flavor 
left  on  the  palate  by  typhoid  fever  or 
measles,  satisfyingly  tempered  by  the 
odor  of  pea-soup. 

Song  of  the  steerage : 

"  Soup  at  eleven, 

Stew  at  five; 
"    This  is  the  stuff 

That  keeps  us  alive!" 

On  the  northern  cliffs  of  St.  Michael's 
in  the  Azores  three  windmills  flaunt 
their  gaunt  arms  in  the  ceaseless  breeze, 
beckoning  forever  to  the  sea. 
93 


L'ENVOIE! 

The  joy  of  travel  is  in  getting  away. 
The  departure  thrills  with  expectancy 
and  relief.  Troubles  are  cast  off  as 
the  butterfly  flings  away  its  chrysalis 
and  leaps  gayly  into  the  welcoming  air. 
All  the  world  is  before,  new  in  aspect, 
and  strange  in  adventure.  So  long  as 
one  is  going  all  seems  well.  It  is  the 
return  that  depresses;  the  awakening 
of  responsibilities  thrust  aside  or  for- 
gotten; the  dreads  and  tragedies  that 
come  with  picking  up  the  load  again! 


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